Vagaries of thoughts
by JasperK
Summary: Lina suggests an idea and Vash discovers he has a hard time processing it out of his mind.


Acting as Eriks had been easier than he had expected, Vash had discovered the third week into the gig. He had slept for almost three days after arriving, then had slowly recovered enough to mooch around the house. Lina had watched him as if he were a caged tiger, fascinated by him and at the same time skittish in his presence. In the third week, when he had been well enough to carry the weekly groceries home with her grandmother, she had grabbed his arm and dragged him off to meet her rag tag bunch of friends. They were a group as hardy as she was and were at the age to be a little wary of adults, but soon accepted his goofy charm.

That had been the first time she had been brave enough to touch him. Since then, however, he had been the target of tugs, shoves, kicks and badly aimed punches. He had taught her how to punch properly without the danger of breaking her thumbs, and was working on the aiming. She somehow did not get the idea of pressure points.

He was therefore very surprised when she marched up to him and gave him a hug around the middle with all her young strength. He gingerly patted her head, wondering what had brought this on.

"I wish you were my dad." She said to his stomach.

Oh dear, he cringed inwardly, and laughed as heartily as he could.

"I'd make a terrible father!" He exclaimed, extracting himself from the hug as smoothly as he knew how. He draped his arm heavily across her shoulders in the manner she hated.

"You'd have a nine o'clock curfew and the disadvantage of me knowing all your secret hideouts, as well as how you sneak out of the window at night. In fact I could mention it to your grandmother, wasn't she speaking of grounding you the other day?" That was a low blow, he knew, but he had to dislodge the idea from her mind somehow.

Predictably, she ducked under his arm and shoved him away.

"You wouldn't!"

He settled into a speculative pose, his fingers on his chin.

She kicked him in the knee and he had enough warning to fall with the blow. He hammed up the injury though and clutched at his leg, groaning.

"Ericks?" She threatened.

"No, no." He pleaded for mercy. "Ah! Ow! I wouldn't!" He managed a breathy laugh as she ground his shoe onto his knee. "Hee. It was a joke."

She glared at him and stomped off.

He stood up and rubbed at his knee, and aside from a slight bruise, there was no harm done. He scratched at the back of his neck, thinking about what had happened. He liked having kids around; they were so refreshingly honest and hopeful. A father? Him? He snorted with laughter, certainly not with his life style. Also Lina was too young to understand the delicacies of the ladies, most looked at him and ran. He brought his hand down. Family would be good though, but he would not have his own children, nephews and nieces maybe, but not his own. That thought suddenly derailed his whole train of thinking. Nephews and nieces would mean Knives having kids, and that was even less likely than himself. He burst out laughing at the utter absurdity of it.

Lina walked past the door and gave him a startled glare, then hurried on before he decided it was a good idea to tell her grandmother about the window.

He put a hand over his mouth, the laughter echoing emptily in his own ears. It was actually rather sad. He felt the misery of the stark loneliness of his life wrap around him and closed his eyes. That kind of thinking only made him depressed. He opened his eyes and stretched. He had work to do that day, and the sooner he got to it the less time he would have to spend with his own thoughts.

* * *

2 am that night.

Vash stared up at the ceiling of the room, wide awake. Of all the stupid thoughts to have running around his mind keeping him awake. Knives having kids! What if he did and they turned out like their father?

He groaned and pulled his pillow over his face.

"C'mon, go to sleep brain, I'm _tired_!" He complained into his pillow.

He turned onto his side and moodily contemplated the moonlight on the floor.

"I wish the insurance girls were here." He muttered to himself. With them around, he would be too tired to be awake! Or better still, Wolfwood. If that priest were there, he would be up to a 2am whisky run and a suitably rambling conversation. Yes. That would be the solution. The topic, as all their late night conversations eventually ran to, would be love and peace and arguments on the theme. Ah yes. That would be good.


End file.
